Posted in Poetry


what news pierces my heart
my soul drowns in the waves
the breathing dies to a shallow pace
what pain existed is now Extinct
icy, cold touch

Posted in Photography

Holy Imagination, People!

“Perhaps I write for no one. Perhaps for the same person children are writing for when they scrawl their names in the snow.” – Margaret Atwood

From an early age, I remember thinking I could write. Curly q’s and flying w’s donned blank pages. I wondered why nobody could understand what I was trying to say. Perhaps, even now, that I can spell, people still scratch their heads and mumble to themselves.

This is an image I snapped, while walking the beach along Lake Michigan. What do you see? Can you hear anything? Memories?

Washed ashore

Posted in Poetry

Is anything right in this upside down, turned around world?

Opening Act:

Are you as confused as me? Can anyone watch the news today and say, glad they sorted out that mess?

Are these days, finally, the end of days? Many have speculated and announced dates, only to see their prophecy vaporize into clouds that hang over their heads.

My daily soapbox: Proverbs 17:15 Acquitting the guilty and condemning the innocent— the LORD detests them both.

Sound familiar? Yes, the truth has become evil and evil has become truth. Look no further than the evening news. You choose, your pick. Which story comes to mind?

 Second Act:

Will anyone be found a believer in the end of days? 2 Corinthians 11:3 But I am afraid that just as Eve was deceived by the serpent’s cunning, your minds may somehow be led astray from your sincere and pure devotion to Christ.

Closing Curtain:

One day, the JUDGE will speak, and no one can utter a word! Matthew 25:41 “Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.  I have seen this in a dream…even in the church, many will burn, searching for relief, and not even the town fountain will put out the flames that torture.

Until then, the show must go on. Christians are asked to forgive those who trespass against them, be disciplined, pray continually, be grateful regardless of surrounding circumstances and continue to let our light shine in joy!

Posted in Poetry

sacred space (H is for Heaven)

the solitude of the moment
the  quietness in the air
words are harnessed and written down
knowing i am almost there
amongst the trees and water
where  birds and crickets share
the rainbow hangs above the clouds
the sacred is here

H is for heaven. No I have not been there. Many claim to have been present and seen a glimpse. We are told to bring heaven on earth. What would that look like for you?

Posted in Poetry

Crack in the Sidewalk

Do you suppose
we have found
a way that super cedes
all other ways?

Do you suppose
the crack
in the sidewalk
will keep cracking?

I suppose
I will need to think
about that
before I can answer!


I googled Crack in the Sidewalk and found many poems and a book with the same title. How are we any different than those before us? Solomon, the wise man in the Bible, from ages ago, said it well “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” Ecclesiastes 1:9. We can repackage the same story, with new words, but the meaning stays the same. What are we trying to figure out? Who created the world? Who created man? Did we just come together in some cosmic explosion, slowly evolve over millions of years, and end up the same as our ancestors? Even they dealt with cracks in the sidewalks. Can you imagine riding a chariot and have a wheel in a crack in the sidewalk?

Posted in Poetry

The place we all begin

Love is at the starting line
The place we all begin.
What waits for us at the finish line
Is what we all wonder?

For some it is fame
and others it is death.
For me I place my hope
on eternity.

The place I hang my hat upon
my knees bent in remorse.
For all the times I wandered
aimlessly, without a clue.

Yet, look within yourself
To see if you can make it.
The finish line is just ahead
And God is cheering you on.


Posted in Poetry


Chapter One
What does this all mean?
What does it?

We all get caught up in “life” but the irony is that the life we live sucks us dry!

Chapter Two
The stage is empty
The chairs are
resting on wobbly legs

Do you dare

Chapter Three
How did I get
I never


Posted in Poetry

G is for Garden Party

“You should have been born a different century.” Her mother exclaimed. Quizzically, the little girl wondered what that meant. Was there something wrong with her?

The weather had steadily warmed and now the lilacs flourished, the rose leaves were greener and the bees hummed to bring sound back to the silent air. The excitement of life was contained in the spring days and Lily wanted to have a garden party. She began to form a mental list of all her favorite school friends in hopes that mother would allow her to set up a table in the backyard.

“No” a long silence sat between mother and daughter.  “Absolutely not!”  she emphasized, just in case Lily kept badgering her long after bed. Twirling the curtain tassels, Lily sat puzzled, as long as mother allowed, which wasn’t long. Soon, she was trudging upstairs to brush her hair and teeth, put on her pajamas and would shortly be sound asleep.

Under her mattress, Lily kept a diary, and tonight she would have much to write. As soon as she heard mother’s bedroom door shut, she realized it was safe to retrieve her secret thoughts, jotting them down in solid form, inside her treasured book. The diary allowed Lily to keep track of her days, which were so long, and trudging through them lately made Lily wish to be older. She was not enjoying her childhood and mother was absolutely too strict. She began writing her list of all the friends she would invite.

May 21, 1997


Oh, how dreadful. Tears fell from her eyes. “What is the use,” she thought aloud to herself. “Mother won’t allow the party. I am just making myself miserable.”

She had heard of a story by K. Mansfield, “The Garden Party”, requested the book from the library, and decided imaging a garden party was just as well.  With a flashlight in hand, the blanket pulled up over her head, Lily began to read the short piece.

Oh, how delightful! Imagining the setting up, the cooking, the flowers, the music, the guests, Lily agreed that like Laura, It all sounded so inviting. How can mother be set against such an endeavor? Yearning to smell the fragrance of the lilacs, Lily jumped out of bed and lifted her bedroom window. The night breeze drifted in, rattled the curtains, and left such a sweet smell upon the pillow.

Returning to bed, she continued reading where she had left off. A sudden twist in the story set her stomach on edge. She dropped the book with a thud, not thinking mother would awake. Mother’s footsteps drew closer and Lily panicked, burying herself deep out of sight. Mother looked about the room and wondered where Lily had taken to. Peering out the window, mother saw a shadow under the moonlight wave goodbye and disappear into the shrubs. “Was that Lily?” she wondered.

“Lily?” mother’s hushed whisper was barely audible, but in earnest she kept repeating her daughter’s name out of the window. “Lily?” Morning was soon upon Mrs. Sheridan, having slept a few minutes here and there throughout the night. Lily still was missing and mother became frantic. Dialing the police, her voice quivered as she recounted the loud thud, the open bedroom window, the lovely smell, the shadows dancing across the lawn and her vigil until morning. The police reassured mother that they would be right over and until then, to take a cup of tea.

The doorbell caught Mrs. Sheridan off guard. She quickly turned to answer the door to find the policeman, dressed in casual clothes. Sorry for the uniform, but I was sent over to investigate a missing child.

“Yes. My daughter Lily…” Mrs. Sheridan’s voice trailed off into the distance. Detective Wilson followed her eyes out towards the backyard.

“Is that where you believe she vanished?” he waited for an answer. Her face was stark white. She could no longer speak.

Years later, Detective Wilson, while riding along the back roads, noticed two figures in the corn fields, dancing and singing.

Lily and Laura
laughing out loud
La, la, la

Like lilacs languish
Lily and Laura
lie low

La, la, la
la, la


2 Samuel 12:23 “But now he is dead. Why should I fast?
Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he will not return to me.”
King David regarding his infant son’s death.

“They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it.
Death cannot kill what never dies.” ~ Williams Penn

Posted in Poetry

Spring Hike 2012

It is that time of year when great friends, food and faith mix together to create memories that carry you through the rest of the calendar days. The exhiliration surrounding my departure to go to the hills is welling up in my soul! If you could hear me, deep inside, you would realize heaven!

My history with the spring and fall hike returns to October in the year 2004. My soul urged me to break away from my life for a moment, to take time and reflect where I was, where I was going and where I wanted to be. My family blessed me before I left with well wishes and hugs. I was at total peace that whatever happened, all would be well.

The first retreat indeed was magical. God met me there. Just the right music, conversation and prayer. I met a wonderful woman, who being a complete stranger, departed a beloved friend. And tomorrow we will reconnect. All the days before will vanish and all the days ahead will disappear and for a time we will just sit and stare and wonder at God’s creation and care.

As it turns out I want to always be there, in the hills of Brown County Indiana. Yet life does not happen there, it is only shared.

Dreams of deer frolicking in the woods
Not wanting anything
but having everything

Visions of birds circling the air
Gliding past vast woods
and sparkling brooks

Falling leaves and budding trees
snow capped hills and frozen pond

If you have a prayer request, please leave it below and I will keep it hidden in my heart to give to God, in the hills of His bosom. Shalom…

In His love,



Posted in Poetry

1, 2, OR 3

sometimes love is one-sided.
sometimes our perceptions are skewed.
sometimes and often times and most of the time forgiveness ensues.


sometimes love is one-sided.
sometimes our perceptions are skewed.

and often times,

and most of the time forgiveness ensues.


sometimes love is one-sided.
sometimes our perceptions are skewed.
and often times,
and most of the time, forgiveness ensues.